


All We Relied Upon

by stoneage_woman



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-25 15:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2626415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoneage_woman/pseuds/stoneage_woman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy survived the earthquake, but the means by which he did so might just make him wish he hadn't. Meanwhile, an unknowing Oliver mourns his best friend even as he struggles to live up to his legacy. Part 1 of my resurrected Tommy verse. Canon compliant till the Season 2 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Just Let You Slip Away

Title: All We Relied Upon

Chapter 1: I Just Let You Slip Away

A/N: I have already finished writing this, so it won't be long between updates. It's a 6 chapter fic which is the first of a series which I am planning to write. The main focus of the series will be Oliver and Tommy's friendship. Please do read and review!

THANK YOU to Warriora for beta-reading this fic.

…

_Yesterday I lost my closest friend,_

_Yesterday I wanted time to end_

_I wonder if my heart will ever mend_

_I just let you slip away_

\- Lost Prophets, "4 am Forever"

…

Even as he begs Tommy to open his eyes, Oliver already knows that it's too late. The guilt he feels is suffocating; and he can barely breathe around the whirling thoughts in his head which whisper that he should have been here faster, should have fought Malcolm Merrlyn harder, should have put the pieces together sooner, so he could somehow have stopped all this from happening. As pieces of the building continues to collapse around him, flames licking the edges of the room, Oliver bows his head, completely paralyzed by grief.

And then he hears it, a low, desperate cry. It jolts him out of himself. There is someone in this building who is still trapped, still needs help, and Oliver…Oliver is still the Arrow. Even though it kills him to leave his friend lying impaled in a pool of his own blood, he forces himself to get up.

The man cries out again, and Oliver tracks the source of the sound to where he is trapped under a heavy teak bookcase. It's one of the lawyers that work with Laurel, Oliver recognizes him vaguely from one of his brief visits to the place. Acting on autopilot, Oliver strains to lift the case, barely managing to get it off him long enough for the man to scramble out from under it.

More chunks of ceiling fall, and a small chunk of cement glances off his head.

"Get out of here," he says to the man he just rescued, his mind still fixed on Tommy. He needs to get his friend's body out of here before the whole place goes up in flames.

"I can't." The stranger indicates his broken leg, his features twisted in pain and desperation. "You have to help me."

Oliver feels as if he's been cleaved in two. He knows that if he leaves without Tommy, there's a good chance that he won't be able to get back in here again.

"Please!" says the man, panic in his voice.

Oliver makes his decision, helps the man up and together they hobble towards the door. Once he gets him a safe distance away, he turns back towards the building, only to see it explode for a second time. Ash and cement rain down, and scorching flames leak out of shattered windows.

There is no way he can get back in there. His stomach roiling at the thought of Tommy's body being consumed by fire, Oliver staggers away from CNRI, his eyes taking in the horror the earthquake has wrought. The surrounding buildings are completely destroyed. He has failed this city, failed to save his best friend, failed even to give Laurel a  _body_ to bury. Something inside him splinters into pieces, and he knows without a shadow of doubt that he will be able to put it back together again.

…

Slade is consumed by rage when the news breaks on the channels. He curses, throws a chair across the room that narrowly misses the TV.

The Glades are crumbling to pieces and the Arrow seems to be doing his best to get himself killed rescuing its screaming, pathetic people. Slade has spent  _years_  planning his revenge, and now it is in danger of being snatched away by an entitled business tycoon.

Slade vows that if Oliver is killed tonight, Malcolm Merrlyn will pay the price for it. Donning his skull mask, he slips quietly out of the small, non-descript motel he's been staying at, making his way to the Glades. It is not very far- he wanted to stay nearby so he could keep an eye on Oliver's activities.

It is a measure of the degree of panic and chaos in the city that no one even stops to blink at the sight of a masked man roaming the streets. The streets are filled with terrified people running or driving haphazardly, trying to get as far away from the Glades as they can. Slade is the only one heading back towards the place, so he is able to pass with relative ease.

When he reaches CNRI, he stops when he sees a familiar face emerging from the building. Laurel Lance argues briefly with a co-worker, and then disappear into the building again. Of course, he thinks with a hint of sadistic amusement. Oliver  _had_ mentioned that she was stubborn.

If Laurel is here, Slade knows the kid will come eventually. Slade finds a narrow alleyway behind CNRI, which is as good a vantage point as any. He settles in to wait.

…

Oliver doesn't know how long he stands staring at the wreck of CNRI before Diggle finds him.

"Oliver!" he exclaims as he limps towards him. He takes in the ruins of CNRI and sucks in a horrified breath. "Is Laurel-?"

"She's fine," says Oliver dully. He had seen her earlier, leaving with her father, a shattered expression in her eyes.

"We have to get out of here," Diggle begins, "You're bleeding all over the place, you need medical attention-"

"Tommy's dead."

"What?"

Oliver sways, light-headed, and Diggle reaches out to steady him. "Oliver," he says, "What do you mean he's dead?"

Oliver can't bring himself to say the words. He gestures mutely at CNRI, and immediately Diggle understands. "Fuck," he says, looking pained. "I'm so sorry, man."

Oliver shakes his head, unable to respond.

"We can't stay here," says Diggle. "The authorities will be arriving any second, and you're going to pass out any second. I'm in no shape to carry you."

Numbly, Oliver lets himself be led away.

…

When Slade follows Oliver into the ruins of CNRI, he has only one thought- Oliver isn't allowed to die here. That would be too easy. Slade watches; concealed by a huge pile of debris as Oliver sobs and pleads with his friend.

Though he is too far away to hear what they are saying it is obvious the two are close. Slade never knew about Tommy Merrlyn until he came to Starling City. Oliver had never mentioned him on the island, and Slade wonders why that is, because this man is clearly important to the kid.

He watches; his lip curled with disgust as Oliver leaves his dying friend behind to save a stranger. Clearly, the kid hasn't changed in the slightest. When Oliver is gone, Slade makes his way to the body on the floor. He puts his hand to his neck-there is a pulse, but it is very faint. The man isn't going to last for long. A complete waste, unless…

Slade's eye burns with triumph as a plan begin to form. He had been furious with Malcolm Merrlyn for putting his carefully laid plans at risk, but now it seems as if the man may have just handed him the perfect weapon against Oliver Queen. He slides a hand into his coat pocket and brings out a syringe, his lips curving in a grotesque smile as he injects the green liquid into Tommy Merrlyn's neck.

…

One moment Oliver is walking through the Glades with Diggle and the next, he is opening his eyes to find Felicity hovering anxiously over him. He is on the operating table in the foundry, which looks almost completely destroyed. He sits up, biting back a cry as his entire body protests.

"Oliver!" Felicity exclaims. "Don't do that, you nearly died! God, do you have any idea how worried we were. Thea keeps calling you, she wants to talk; and Laurel-"

"Felicity," he interrupts her mid-babble, "Take a breath, will you? I'm fine."

But, he remembers, Tommy isn't. It all comes screaming back, everything that happened, and now he is in pain for an entirely different reason. "Tommy," he says. "Is he, I mean did they find his…?"

She shakes her head, her eyes filling with tears. "No, they tried, but the building was too destroyed. They couldn't recover any, uh, remains."

He flinches at the word, feeling bile rise in his throat. "I should have gotten there faster," he mutters.

"You couldn't have," said Felicity. "You barely survived that fight, Oliver. You can't blame yourself for not-"

He doesn't want to hear it. "What about Diggle? Is he okay?"

"He's fine." Felicity's phone rings, she glances at it and grimaces. "Oliver, I hate to do this to you now, but this can't wait. Thea keeps calling, and even though I told her you're busy, I can't keep making excuses. She wants to talk to you and make sure you're okay. And Laurel wants to talk about the arrangements for Tommy's funeral, and your mother's lawyer wants to discuss her case, because Thea's refusing to meet her…"

Oliver's mind spins away from him. He can't even imagine putting on a brave face for Thea, let alone arranging Tommy's funeral with  _Laurel,_ who he had slept with, despite knowing that Tommy loved her. It's enough to make him sick to his stomach.

"Oliver, are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, I'm listening," he says unconvincingly.

Felicity looks at him skeptically. "Like I was saying,"' she continues, "your house has been completely mobbed by the press, so we're going to have to do something about that-"

Suddenly, it's all too much. "I can't," he says abruptly, scrambling off the table. The only thing he wants is to get as far away from everything as possible. "I can't, I have to-"

"Oliver, wait!"

He stumbles out of the room, oblivious to Felicity's frantic calls.

…

Tommy wakes up on something soft. The first thing he registers is a surprising absence of pain; he looks down at his bare chest and sees only a deep bruise where there was once a large piece of metal protruding. The last thing he remembers is being in the worst pain he has ever experienced, and feeling sure that he had only moments to live while Oliver looked down at him with a devastated expression.

He wonders briefly if he really is dead, but then dismisses the idea as he looks around the room, which is like no version of the afterlife he has ever heard of. It is a fairly ordinary bedroom, if a little cramped. There is an attached bathroom, a small cupboard; a bookshelf with about thirty odd books stacked haphazardly, a tiny TV with a DVD player and a stack of CDs lying beside it. There is a yellow bedspread on the bed, which matches the truly revolting wallpaper printed with daisies, his least favorite flower.

He goes to the door and tries to open it, but of course it is locked. He feels a hot flush of anger at that- how  _dare_  someone keep him here against his will- and he draws his fist back and punches the door before he can stop himself. To his shock, there is a resounding bang, and when he looks closely at the door, he sees that he has somehow managed to dent it. He stares down at his arm, unnerved.

There are footsteps outside, and then the sound of a key turning in a lock. A huge man, exuding strength and quiet menace, enters the room. He is holding a tray with a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of water which he sets down on the table before turning to face Tommy. His face is scarred and he is wearing an eye-patch, which only adds to the aura of danger that surrounds him. "I see you're finally awake," he says in a deep, grating voice.

"Who are you?" asks Tommy. "Why are you keeping me here? How am I not dead?"

"Too many questions," the man says hoarsely. "There are only a few things that you need to know. First, my name is Slade Wilson. Second, you're not dead because I saved your life." He smiles a twisted, unhinged smile that sends chills down Tommy's back. "And last, where I'm holding you is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that no one will hear you if you scream. There is a metal door behind this one, made of adamantium- even stronger than military grade. And the walls have a layer of the same thing behind the concrete. I suggest you make yourself at home, Mr. Merrlyn. Try not to destroy the TV the first time you get frustrated. After all," he smiles that disturbing smile again; a manic gleam in his eye, "you're going to be here for awhile."

…

TBC…

 


	2. Disaster Finds a Playfield

Title: All We Relied Upon

Chapter 2: Disaster Finds a Playfield

…

_With me disaster finds a playfield_  
Love seems to draw dark twisted pleasure tearing at me  
Cause I can't let you go  
Mercy, like water in the desert  
Shines through my memory like jewelry in the sun  
Where are you now?

\- Poets of the Fall,  _Dreaming Wide Awake_  
…

Oliver knows that this is the very definition of cowardice. To leave everything behind- the Glades, Thea, his mother- and come back here, to the island. But he can't face it; is convinced, in fact, that if he goes back, everything will just become worse. After all, what good did all his wonderful intentions do the last time, when he vowed to save Starling City?

He doesn't allow himself to think about it too much. Instead, he throws himself into training- spends hours and hours pushing himself till he collapses into a few fitful hours of sleep. The only break from the routine is when hunger forces him to hunt, but this is only an after-thought. He loses all sense of time, day and night blur together in sweat and calluses and aching muscles.

No matter how hard he tries, however, he can't stop his mind from taking him to places that he would much rather avoid. When he sleeps, he has no control over his subconscious, and he is forced to relive the Glades going up in flames, Sara screaming his name as she is ripped away from him, Ivo shouting "choose", and Shado dead in front of him- so many memories to torture himself with, and his subconscious mind wastes no opportunity to do so. It varies every night, but one dream is constant, and every morning he wakes with cold tears on his face after reliving the memory of his best friend dying in his arms.

…

As the days pass, Tommy slowly pieces together what has happened to him. Slade though uncommunicative and gruff, sometimes answers one of his questions when he brings him his meals, and he finds out that he was cured by something called "mirakuru", a miracle drug which has apparently made him stronger and faster.

Tommy isn't an idiot. He knows that that isn't all the drug is doing to him. He can feel frustration and too much energy coursing through his body. He has already punched two holes in the concrete walls, exposing the metallic surface within.

These fits of temper disturb him deeply. He has always been a fairly cheerful person. He doesn't get angry often or easily, he has never even gotten into a physical fight with anyone. Yet here he is; punching holes in walls because Slade won't give him answers him fast enough _._ It scares him, and he tries to contain it by distracting himself with the books and DVDs. Of course, he runs out of new material for entertainment within a few weeks. He really wishes the TV had cable, but for now, he is reduced to re-watching the same movies again and again.

Then one day, when he is re-reading  _The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo_ , the TV turns on by itself. It's a broadcast of a local news channel, dated two days ago. It shows video footage of the devastation in the Glades, ruined buildings and people sleeping on street corners, huge lines at newly opened soup kitchens. Even though he experienced the earthquake firsthand, it is still horrifying. Tommy feels a surge of anger towards his father and his hands curl into fits.

Then the news anchor's voice talks about the rising street crime in the Glades. "Four sexual assaults and three muggings have been reported in the last week alone," he says, "Police and medical personnel are doing what they can, but they lost many of their own in the earthquake, and are stretched very thin. The question on everyone else's tongue is; where is the vigilante? Did he die in the earthquake, or has he hung up his hood? One thing is certain; we sure could use him now."

The recording ends just as abruptly as it began, but Tommy barely notices in the haze of blinding anger that has crashed over him. Where the  _fuck_ is Oliver? First he slept with Laurel, and now he abandons the Glades when it needs him the most? How  _dare_ he? He lets out a feral roar and punches another hole in the wall, but this time, it isn't enough. He picks up a book and hurls it across the room, and then kicks the side of the bed as hard as he can. Sharp pain lances up his leg, bringing him back to his senses abruptly.

He freezes, his foot poised just off the ground. What the  _hell_ did he just do? His previous fits of anger had never been as bad as that. He's pretty sure his toe is broken, for God's sake. If Oliver was here, Tommy knows he would have tried to hurt him.

This isn't him, he thinks dazedly. This isn't him  _at all._ What the fuck is happening to him?

…

Oliver wonders sometimes what Felicity and Diggle would think if he could see him now; dirty, hungry and cold, fighting for his life again, only this time it's against his own demons. Being back on the island is horrific, he sees ghosts of the people he lost everywhere. Yet, he can't bring himself to return, because he knows that if he goes anywhere else, Felicity will be able to find him.

He knows his two friends will be looking everywhere for him, knows there are probably a million things going wrong in Starling City now, not to mention his family. But Oliver has lost the conviction that his presence will help. Things always seem to go wrong when he is around. He convinces himself that they are all better off without him.

…

Two months into captivity; and Tommy has already been through his entire supply of movies and books four times. He is itching with cabin fever, and there are hours every day when he is consumed by a fierce longing to feel sunlight on his skin, or hear anyone else's voice but Slade's. There are times when he thinks he would sell his soul to listen to a song, even if it was a cheesy, teenage pop song.

He finds himself thinking of Oliver in such moments. He must have experienced this on the island. It makes him wonder how the man came back from the island as sane as he did, especially when he knows that he isn't really suffering that much. He has enough to eat and drink, and except for the one time that he tried to escape (he is beaten to a pulp for his trouble; Slade is even stronger than he looks, which is saying something) he is treated fairly well.

The monotony is what is going to kill him. The only break has been the broadcasts which occasionally flash on the TV screen. There have been half a dozen now, and after the last one, which talked about the looming threat of the failure of Queen Consolidated and the impact it would have on its thousands of workers and associates, Tommy has figured out what Slade is trying to do.

It is pretty obvious that his captor is trying to get him to hate Oliver, though he still hasn't been able to figure out why. And even though he doesn't want to admit it, Tommy knows that it is working. It is a huge understatement to say that he has unresolved issues with his best friend, and Slade continually displaying his selfish abandonment of the city is not helping him come to terms with that.

Tommy tries not to let the constantly simmering anger take over, but it always seem to get the best of him eventually. Even worse is the feeling of shame and helplessness that wash over him in the aftermaths of his furious outbursts.

After he breaks the bookcase one day in a fit of frustration, Slade fixes a huge punching bag to the ceiling, taking up more than a quarter of the room. "You're going to cost me a fortune if you keep this up," he says by way of explanation, "Besides, your body needs regular exercise to work off the extra energy the Mirakuru gives you." His lips turn up in that half demented smile that never fails to send chills down Tommy's spine. "It helps if you picture the face of someone who's let you down. A former friend, perhaps?"

He leaves the room and locks it behind him, leaving Tommy seething. How  _dare_  Slade try to use Oliver against him this way? He vows not to give into the man's sick idea, and tries to avoid the temptation of the punching bag, but with each passing day, it is growing more difficult. He has a feeling that something inside him is going to snap soon, and he is afraid that he won't be able to fix it when it does.

…

TBC…

 


	3. As My Anger Reigns

Title: All We Relied Upon

A/N: This contains very minor spoilers for 3.02.

…

Chapter 3: As My Anger Reigns

_‘Til everything burns, while everyone screams_

_Burning their lies, burning my dreams_

_All of this hate and all of this pain,_

_I’ll burn it all down as my anger reigns_

 

\- Anastacia feat. Ben Moody, Everything Burns

…

After the madness of his first week back from the island, Oliver finds himself at the Starling City cemetery without quite knowing how he got there. He hadn’t planned on visiting Tommy’s grave, and he is not exactly sure what he’s doing here- Tommy is long gone, not even his body rests here.

But he feels a pressing need to acknowledge this new chapter in his journey as the Hood. He has made a promise in Tommy’s name, and he knows keeping it will be one of the hardest things he has ever had to do. He will have to fight instincts that became a part of his very nature on the island.

He wishes fiercely that he hadn’t waited to make this resolution until after Tommy’s death, because now, no matter what he does on this path to redemption, his best friend will never be there to witness it. Tommy died believing he was a murderer, and that cuts Oliver deeply, because even though Tommy often acted like a spoilt, shallow playboy, he’d always had a heart of gold; had always been one of the best people Oliver knew.

He remembers that day when Tommy had come to Honk Kong to look for him, when no one, not even his own family, had believed he was alive. Being forced to send him away had almost destroyed him. It was the first time that Oliver had lost all hope that he would ever get back home.

And then those first weeks after his return from the island- he’d had such a difficult time adjusting, and it had seemed like his family constantly wanted him to act okay when he really wasn’t. Tommy was the only one who had accepted him back without any questions or expectations. He had chattered inanely about the TV shows and movies Oliver had missed, treating him exactly the same as he always had. And yet he had never been insensitive, had never tried beyond a half-hearted suggestion or two to drag him to parties or ply him with women, and he had given him his space when he needed it without begrudging him.

Letting out a shaky sigh, Oliver drops to one knee in front of the gravestone. “I’m sorry you died thinking I was a killer,” he says tightly. “From now on, I’m going to live my life like you’re watching every move I make.” He draws in a deep, steadying breath and tries not to remember the way Tommy looked when he died.  “I promise; I will never let you down again."

…

At first, Slade lets Tommy’s refusal to use the punching bag pass without comment, though his lips press into a tight line when he sees it untouched day after day. As time goes by, he seems increasingly impatient, however, and the news broadcasts increase in frequency.

One day, when he is handing Tommy his dinner, he notices something and grabs his arm in a crushing grasp. “What is this?” he growls.

Tommy looks down and flushes dully. His entire arm is covered in bite marks- he’d noticed pain was an effective way of keeping him grounded during his fits of anger. Since then, he’s been using this as a way of keeping himself in check.

 “It’s nothing,” he mutters.

Slade searches his face and then let’s go of his arm, looking amused. “Don’t tell me,” he says, “That you are laboring under the delusion that you can _fight_ the effects of the Mirakuru? If you do not choose a focus and an outlet for your anger, it will consume you completely.”

“I am _not_ going to let you turn me into a weapon against Oliver,” Tommy retorts hotly.

Slade first looks surprised, then mildly impressed. “You’re sharper than you look, kid,” he says in his gravelly voice. “But all I’ve done you is show you what Oliver has done to this city.”

“He’s my best friend,” Tommy says through gritted teeth. _The best friend who slept with the woman you loved,_ a traitorous voice whispers in his head. He shoves it down before the anger can bubble up and take over.

“The same best friend who lied to you?” Slade counters. “Who abandoned you in a collapsing building to save a stranger? Who killed your father?”

“What?” Tommy asks, shocked. “He didn’t-”

Slade’s gaze sharpens. “That’s what he told you? The kid hasn’t changed at all. Well, I hate to break it to you, but he lied. Malcolm Merrlyn is dead.”

“That’s not possible,” Tommy stammers, though seeds of doubt are beginning to take root.

Slade smiles unpleasantly. “I can show you the broadcast if you want proof,” he says. “But is it really necessary? Think about it, Tommy. How could the Arrow have stopped him without killing him? Oliver lied to you.”

Tommy doesn’t want to believe it, but Slade’s words make a horrible kind of sense. He stares at him for a split second before turning away and smashing his fist into the punching bag with all his might. _How could you_ , he thinks in a blind rage, barely noticing when his knuckles split open. _How could you have lied to me? How could you have killed my dad, how could you have slept with the woman I loved?_

He barely registers Slade leaving as he punches the bag again, and again and again, the haze of anger consuming him completely.

…                                                                                                                                       

Oliver knew his return to Starling City wasn’t going to be easy, but if he had guessed _how_ difficult it was going to be, he’s pretty sure he would never have left the island. Only two weeks back and he has never felt more like a failure-the Glades are in ruins, Sebastian Blood seems hell-bent on crucifying him, his mother is probably going to get the death sentence and he doesn’t even want to _think_ about the kind of shape Laurel is in.

He misses Tommy fiercely. His friend was always good at lightening the mood in difficult situations, and there are moments when Oliver almost expects him to walk into the middle of a messy situation and defuse it with some well-timed humor.

It’s a strange thing, because even as it crosses his mind he knows that Tommy didn’t exactly joke around much last year. Oliver feels like he is remembering some version of Tommy that pre-dated the island, or maybe he is just thinking of how things should have been.

Felicity calls him self-absorbed, and she is right, but not in the way she thinks. Neither she nor Diggle seem to realize how badly Tommy’s death still affects him. It’s as if they think he’s left all that behind him on the island. He hasn’t, and probably never will.

He doesn’t blame them for not understanding because they were never around before the island, when he and Tommy were practically inseparable. Thea was, though, which is probably why she forgives him so easily for his four-month absence.

Sometimes, Oliver doesn’t know what hurts worse- the fact that he never got a chance to fix things between them, or the fact that he never really tried. Now, he is determined that no matter what it takes, he won’t fail in his promise to Tommy.

…

Tommy loses hours every day to the punching bag. It requires no thought- it is just pure physical exertion, sweat and force and bloody knuckles, which is far more satisfying than a book or a movie could ever be. Once, he even manages to knock it to the floor completely, spilling sand across the floor. (The moment reminds him vaguely of a scene from a movie he knows he should recognize, but he is so consumed by the fire inside him that he doesn’t even pause to remember which it is.)

Slade doesn’t comment, but replaces the punching bag, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. His broadcasts continue at regular intervals. Oliver is back now, but the city is still in complete chaos. The latest broadcast is about the return of a serial killer known as ‘The Dollmaker’, who had captured and nearly killed Quentin and Laurel Lance. The broadcast doesn’t make it clear how she survived it, but the idea of Laurel in danger makes Tommy’s blood boil. Shouldn’t Oliver be keeping an eye on her?

It is a nightmare that finally snaps him out of it. He collapses into bed one night, exhausted, and when he closes his eyes he sees Oliver’s face hovering over his, eyes wet with tears and desperation, telling him that he’s going to be alright, that he is nothing like his father. Tommy jerks awake, feeling as if he’s just had a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

For the first time in days, he finds himself able to think clearly. It is suddenly obvious now-Oliver clearly thinks he is dead. After those of injuries, Tommy shouldn’t have survived. Oliver hasn’t abandoned him, and he only lied about his father to protect him. Honestly, Tommy can’t blame him for that- if he _had_ died, he wouldn’t have wanted his last thought to be the knowledge that his best friend killed his father.

Is this why Oliver ran away from Starling City? Was it all just too much? Tommy puts himself in Oliver’s shoes, thinks about everything he’s lost. Watching his mother admitting to mass murder on national television, and then being forced to kill his best friend’s father and then losing Tommy, all in one same night? Tommy is only surprised his friend didn’t stay gone.

Tommy is still angered by Oliver’s betrayal where Laurel is concerned, but then, he had screwed that up himself first, hadn’t he? And he’d known all along that Oliver still loved Laurel, had been waiting for the situation to blow up in his face for a whole year, and it finally had. Though he can’t forgive his friend, he can’t hate him for it, either.

He runs a hand through his hair and feels fear and helplessness twist in his gut. What the fuck is happening to him? He doesn’t even recognize himself anymore. This terrible anger is like a demon possessing him. He has no control over it at all.

His eyes skip over the room, taking in the gashes in the walls, some of which he can’t even remember making. Walls of metal stronger than military grade- it must have cost Slade a small fortune. Why is the man going to such lengths to keep him here?

Suddenly, Tommy’s eyes widen in realization. It feels as if a light bulb has gone off in his head, and he curses himself for his stupidity in not realizing it sooner. Slade had known everything about the Mirakuru. He was built like a block of steel. On the first day of his captivity, he had warned Tommy not to break the TV in a fit of frustration. He had known about the increased strength and healing, and the need for physical exercise. That kind of intimate knowledge could only come from personal experience.

Slade had obviously been injected with the same drug, but unlike Tommy, he has somehow learnt to control the effects. He seems focused, determined- he has obviously planned every detail of Tommy’s captivity carefully. The room, the broadcasts, the patience with which he waited for Tommy to use the punching bag all show that he has found away to avoid being ruled by his anger.

But how is that possible? This all-consuming fury is so violent and unpredictable, how could anyone control it? Tommy closes his eyes, his mind whirling as he reexamines Slade’s actions over the last few weeks. And then he remembers what Slade said a few days ago. _If you do not choose a focus and an outlet for your anger, it will consume you completely._

His eyes fly open. Slade has focused all his anger, all his hatred on Oliver. His entire being is consumed by planning Oliver’s downfall, and that is the only reason he is able to stay in control of himself. Tommy thinks about Oliver up against that kind of hatred, of how completely blindsided he will be, and feels a spike of anger on his friend’s behalf. Oliver doesn’t deserve that.

This time, he does not try to fight the anger. If he needs a focus for his hatred, then what better candidate than the man who drugged him, captured him, and is trying to brainwash him into hurting his best friend? Tommy’s lips curl into a hard smile. He gets up and turns to face the dark outline of the punching bag. He pictures Slade standing there and draws his fist back, letting the anger build until it’s the only thing he knows.

...

TBC…

 


	4. So Far Away

Title: All We Relied Upon

Chapter 4: So Far Away

...

_How do I live without the ones I love?_

_Time still turns the pages of the book it's burned_

_Space and time always on my mind_

_I have so much to say but you're so far away_

 - Avenged Sevenfold, ‘So Far Away’

…

Hours after Sara had disappeared just as swiftly and devastatingly as she had revealed herself, Oliver sits alone in the foundry nursing a stiff whiskey. It isn’t often that he indulges himself like this, but after a day like today, he thinks he’s entitled.

He had been so sure she was gone, both times. And each time, he had wished so fiercely that he could have saved her, and each time she had defied all odds and come back; but nothing about it had been simple or easy. While he is profoundly relieved that she is alive, Diggle is right about his secrets weighing him down. It feels like he can literally feel the burden of this one crushing his shoulders.

 It is one thing to lie about his identity every day, but keeping Sara’s survival from her family? When Oliver thinks about how he talked to Detective Lance as if nothing had changed, with Sara standing less than ten feet away, it makes him feel sick. And how will he keep this from Laurel? Only the conviction that Sara has to have a good reason for keeping this secret is stopping him from marching over to her house right at this instant.

He is so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear Diggle come in.

“It’s past midnight. What are you still doing here?”

Oliver lets out a startled sound, leaping to his feet before he registers who it is. “Fuck,” he says, furious with himself for losing track of his surroundings.

Diggle raises his eyebrows at him in surprise. “Nice to see you too,” he quips. “Seriously, why haven’t you gone home?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I forgot my wallet,” says Diggle, holding it up for Oliver to see. “Answer the question.”

Oliver sits back down and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Just, you know, thinking,” he says vaguely.

Diggle stares at him, taking in the defeated slump of his shoulder and the drink in his hand. “You really thought she was dead, didn’t you,” he says.

“Of course I did!” he snaps, affronted- he is so _tired_ of having to defend himself to them. “Do you honestly think I would have kept it from her family if I’d known she survived? I saw her drowning right in front of me, _twice_. I didn’t think her family needed to know she went through that.”

Diggle’s eyes widen, and then he looks ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I was kind of harsh on you, earlier.”

Oliver nods, accepting the apology. He stares down at the table, takes another sip of his drink. Diggle hesitates; then sits down beside him. “Are you going to tell her family now?” he asks cautiously.

“She doesn’t want me to,” says Oliver, suddenly feeling very tired. “I don’t know why, I begged her to, but she’s adamant. I have to respect that, she has to have a good reason, but...”

“Almost makes you wish you hadn’t found out she was alive, right?”

Oliver’s head jerks up. “No,” he says vehemently. “Knowing she’s alive, even if I never see her again, or if her family never finds out- it’s still completely worth it.”

Diggle gives him a slight smile, and Oliver realizes, belatedly, that he had planned that. _Sneaky bastard._

But now that it’s been pointed out to him, he feels a little more at peace. The whole situation might be complicated as fuck, but he’s honestly glad Sara’s back. He thinks about Tommy, about all the things that were left unresolved between them. At least with Sara, he has a second chance.

…

Tommy spends hours at the punching bag, picturing Slade Wilson’s face, thinking of all the ways in which he, and Oliver, has been wronged by him. He experiences a kind of steely purpose in such moments, a welcome change from the chaotic anger of the previous weeks. He embraces it willingly.

…

Oliver has always been afraid of the moment when he will fail in his promise to Tommy. He knows, eventually, that he will have to kill again, that a situation will arise when he won’t be able to avoid it. When it actually happens, when he stares down from the window and sees the Count’s body lying on top of the car, he feels an overwhelming regret that he wasn’t able to keep his word.

When he tells he Felicity there was no other choice, he means it. Any sorrow or guilt he feels now would be nothing compared to how he would feel if he had allowed her to be hurt. But some part of him is still sickened by how easy it was to take a life again. No matter how much he fights to redeem himself, killing always seems to come naturally to him, and that terrifies him.

In the stillness of the foundry, hours after Diggle and Felicity have left for the night; Oliver closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh. _I’m sorry, Tommy_. _I tried._

…

Sometimes, Tommy pictures wrapping his fingers around Slade’s neck and slowly squeezing the life out of him, or running a knife across his throat and watching rich, wet blood drench his front. He channels these impulses into the punching bag, and the more he does, the more clear-minded he feels.

…

Exhausted as he is after what has been one of the most hellish days he has ever experienced, Oliver can’t fall asleep. Seeing Shado and Slade again has brought back painful memories he would much rather have kept buried. He has never really come to term with either of their deaths, doesn’t think he ever will, because the circumstances were so horrifying that even after all these years, it still makes bile rise in his throat whenever he thinks about it.

As for Tommy, seeing him again and hearing him say words that Oliver had longed to hear for so long leaves him with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he’d been drugged and hallucinating, it had felt like absolution to hear his friend tell him he was a hero.

But now, he knows that it was just wishful thinking. He isn’t superstitious, can’t bring himself to believe that he had a _vision_ of Tommy from beyond the grave, no matter how much he wants to.

Tommy had made his feelings about his vigilantism very clear. Oliver can try with everything he has, he can save millions of lives and never kill again, but the fact remains that Tommy died before he could see any of that. There is nothing any hallucination can say or do which can change that.

Oliver just has to learn to live with it.

…                                    

Now that Tommy is making progress with the punching bag, the routine changes. Slade begins to spend more time in the room. He comes in more often during the day, and stays standing in a corner, watching Tommy with a satisfaction that sets his teeth on edge. Sometimes, he even gives him tips on how to improve his stance, or speed.

Although it seriously tests his control to have the object of his hatred standing less than ten feet away from him, Tommy tries to listen. He knows this is nowhere near the kind of training that either Slade or Oliver had, but maybe it will allow him to hold his own in a fight.

After a few days, he decides to try and find out a little bit more about Slade’s vendetta against Oliver. It’s not the first time he’s asked about this, of course, but that was when he’d still been openly fighting Slade. Maybe he has a better chance of getting answers now. After some thought, he stages a show of anger for Slade, muttering words like “bastard” and “take that, Ollie”, as he pounds into the punching.

“You need to bend your knees, as I’ve told you before,” Slade tells him from his corner. “You can’t lose your focus every time you get angry. Boxing requires skill as well as brute force.”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says, backing away from the punching bag and mopping his brow. “It’s just, you have no idea how much I hate him. He took everything from me. My father, Laurel-”

Slade’s eyes gleam with interest. “What about Laurel?” he asks sharply.

“He told me he was fine with the two of us dating; he even encouraged me to get back together with her when we broke up, but…” He hesitates. Even though he had planned it, it still feels like a huge betrayal to be revealing this.

“But what?” Slade prompts him, a greedy, almost unhinged look in his eyes.

It is not the first time Tommy has seen this expression. Whenever Slade mentions Oliver; he gets that look in his eyes. Tommy wonders fleetingly if _he_ looks anything like that when he’s thinking of Slade, before immediately shutting down that train of thought. Some things just don’t bear thinking about.

“He still had feelings for her,” he says. “I took his advice, I even brought her flowers to apologize, and then I went to her house only to find the two of them tearing each other’s clothes off.” He doesn’t have to fake the bitter note in his voice, the memory still stings.

Slade’s fingers clench into fists. “He hasn’t changed at all,” he mutters, and Tommy can see that his entire body is vibrating with suppressed violence. “Ungrateful, back-stabbing bastard…”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks. “Did he do something like that to you?”

Slade turns his one blazing eye on Tommy. “Worse,” he growls. “He killed the woman I loved.”

“What?” Tommy asks in disbelief, because even though Oliver has killed more than a few bad guys, Tommy can’t believe he would be capable of this. “No, that’s impossible-”

Slade doesn’t allow him to finish. He grabs Tommy and slams him against the wall so hard that chips of concrete rain down on them. Pain blooms across Tommy’s back and head; and he knows the Mirakuru is the only reason he’s still alive.

“After all the times he’s betrayed you and lied to you, you still don’t know what he’s capable of,” says Slade, his voice shaking with rage. “Every day, I regret not killing him the first time I saw him on that godforsaken island.”

Again, Tommy’s mind goes blank with shock. Slade had been on the island with Oliver? “What happened?” he asks, struggling to keep his voice even.

“I befriended him,” says Slade, “I thought he had the makings of a good man, and for awhile it seemed as though I was right. I even called him my brother. I stood back and watched Shado fall for him, and I didn’t say a word because I thought she deserved him. She was young and beautiful and everything I wasn’t, and I could see that Oliver made her happy.  And then Sara Lance arrived on the scene, and everything changed.”

“Sara?” Tommy asks, his mind reeling. “But she died on the Gambit!”

“Another lie,” says Slade grimly. “When Oliver’s boat sank, she washed up on a freighter and spent a year with a man named Ivo. He was trying to find the Mirakuru and use it for his own purposes, and Sara helped him. She betrayed Oliver to Ivo, but he still tried to save her, and helped her escape the freighter. When Ivo came to take his revenge on them, he made Oliver choose between Shado and Sara. And Oliver chose that _traitor_ over the woman who trained him _, loved_ him; saved his life a billion times over. Ivo shot Shado and Oliver did nothing to stop it. He and Sara didn’t even have the courage to tell me how she died.” His lips twist into a cruel, almost deranged smile. “It’s too bad that bitch died when that freighter blew up,” he mutters. “I would so have enjoyed making her suffer, too.”

Tommy pictures Sara as he remembers her, laughter in her eyes as she sang at Laurel’s twenty-third birthday. And then he remembers the haunted look in Oliver’s eyes when he went to apologize to Laurel after his return from the island.

Fury crashes over him like a tidal wave. He half stumbles to the punching bag and drives his fist into it with everything he has. The bag flies off the hook and collides with the bedroom wall. Sand spills onto the floor.

Tommy doesn’t dare turn, afraid of what he might do if he looks at Slade. The man comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder, and it takes all of Tommy’s willpower not to flinch away in disgust.

“Now you know,” Slade says softly. “Oliver was a friend to us both, and he betrayed us in the worst way imaginable. He deserves to pay for his sins, and with your help, I can bring him to his knees and destroy him, the same way he destroyed us.”

He walks out and shuts the door behind him, leaving a ringing silence in his wake.

…

TBC…

 


	5. Not This Time

Title: All We Relied Upon

Chapter 5: Not this Time

…

_I'll make it through, but not this time_   
_Your hope is gone, and so is mine_   
_Live, fight_   
_Crawl back inside_   
_Sick, blind                                                                                                                                                                                                     Love left behind._

 - Breaking Benjamin, _Crawl_

The night after they manage to disable the earthquake device, Oliver finds himself shooting awake in the early hours of the morning. Images of fire and crumbling buildings dance before his eyes. He can still hear the sound of Tommy’s labored breathing in his ear; can still see the scrap of metal poking out of his chest.

Oliver shudders and rubs his hands across his face. It has been a while since he had this particular nightmare, but he isn’t surprised that it chose to make an appearance tonight. After the absolute _clusterfuck_ of the last few days- Laurel is falling to pieces, Roy now knows who he is, and he was faced with the machine that killed his best friend and destroyed the Glades- he should have known better than to try and sleep.

He inhales deeply and gets out of bed, heading for the kitchen to make himself a cup of hot chocolate. It isn’t something he usually has a taste for, but tonight, he needs something comforting to calm his nerves.

He sits at the table in the silence of the kitchen, sipping his drink. The taste of the chocolate brings back memories. He remembers the endless sleepovers he and Tommy used to have when they were kids, how they would sneak out and raid the kitchen for hot chocolate and cookies. And then they would try to sneak past the security guards so they could play pranks on Thea-his eyes sting at the memory, and he gulps down a too-large sip of the hot chocolate, wincing as it burns past the lump in his throat.

Everyone thinks he has moved on from Tommy’s death by now. Sometimes, he’s even able to convince himself of that, but the truth is that not a day has gone by since the Undertaking that he hasn’t thought about his friend.

Tommy’s death feels like a raw, festering wound that refuses to heal. Maybe it’s because it’s more than simple grief- not that anything about losing Tommy could ever be simple. It’s regret over not being able to fix things between them, guilt over betraying him by sleeping with Laurel, and the burden of the promise he’s made not to kill again.

Oliver wants his friend back so badly that it actually hurts, and he grits his teeth against it. Bowing his head, he allows himself a few moments to grieve.

…

Finding out the reason behind Slade’s hatred for Oliver has the opposite effect of what the man intended. Far from hating Oliver, even the latent resentment Tommy sometimes felt towards him has vanished, replaced by an intense feeling of protectiveness. He is surprised but relieved that he can feel this way under the influence of the Mirakuru, but embraces it as readily as he embraced the anger.

Slade’s story is so horrific that Tommy fully understands now why Oliver always refused to talk about anything to do with the island. To have been forced to make a choice like that is unimaginable.

 He remembers Oliver as he was before he left; an _unrepentantly_ spoilt brat, but also the person who had made it a point never to leave Tommy’s side on his mother’s death anniversary every year for over a decade. Oliver was the guy who had cheated on the love of his life with her _sister_ (of course Tommy had known about that; he wasn’t called his best friend for nothing), but also the man who had lied and gotten himself arrested the first time Tommy had been caught with drugs, just so that he wouldn’t have to face his father’s wrath alone.

And then Tommy thinks about the shell of the man who had come back from the island, and he vows to take revenge on Slade for being one of the people who turned his friend into that.

...

When Oliver finds out that Thea is Malcolm Merrlyn’s biological daughter, he feels as if his whole world has been turned upside down all over again. His mother, the woman who he had thought was guilty of genocide and a hundred other lies but not _this_ , not a secret this huge and devastating seems suddenly unrecognizable to him.

He somehow gets through the election rally without any violent outbursts, and then of course, there’s the whole mess with the League of Shadows and he almost loses Sara _again._ Reeling from the days’ events, he heads home, blundering through the inevitable confrontation with his mother and finally locking himself in his bedroom.

Vibrating with tension, he paces up and down, his mind whirling- he had _killed_ Thea’s father. And Tommy had been her _brother,_ and no one had had any idea. He wonders what Tommy would have said if he’d known about this before he died, what his reaction would have been to having Thea as a little sister.

But no. Oliver would never have told him, wouldn’t have been able to bring himself to ruin what was left of his relationship with his father. He can’t tell Thea, either- but how is he going to keep this from her? If she ever finds out he concealed something this huge she’ll never forgive him.

Oliver draws in a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, but his thoughts keep flying all over the place. _Screw this,_ he thinks, wrenching open his bedroom door violently. The only thing that’s going to help him right now is to beat the crap out of something, so he heads straight for the foundry.

...

After Tommy destroys two more punching bags, Slade begins to spar with him. It feels wonderful to unleash his pent up hatred, though he is never able to get more than a couple of hits in before Slade flattens him.

Slowly, Tommy gets better at fighting. He finds himself counting down the days till he can use his newly developing skills against Slade.

…

Even though he’s still reeling from the revelation about Thea, as the days go by, Oliver finds himself slowly coming to terms with it. Briefly, for the first time in ages, things don’t feel as if they’re on the verge of falling apart. Oliver still hasn’t forgiven his mother, and there is the mess with Roy, but at least they have him contained, and Star Labs is working on a cure for the Mirakuru. Laurel seems to be getting better, too, and best of all, Sara has been legally and publicly resurrected.

His relationship with her is the very _last_ thing he would have expected, but it is also the closest he has come to being happy in a very long time. It is an unspeakable relief to be with someone he doesn’t have to hide anything from, if only because she’s just as messed up as he is. Laurel is surprisingly accepting of the situation, but what really stuns Oliver is Detective Lance’s tacit approval. It gives Oliver hope that maybe he’s good for Sara too, if her father, who had hated him for so long, is willing to accept something that crosses more than a dozen inviolable lines.

But of course, it doesn’t last. When he least expects it, crashes back into his life like a destructive force of nature, and it soon becomes clear that he has been planning Oliver’s downfall for years. Oliver tries to fight back, but he is always one step behind as Slade infiltrates his house, kidnaps his sister, steals away his company and destroys his relationships with the people he is closest to.

His nightmares are back in full force and he loses his appetite, only forcing himself to eat to keep the Arrow going. Sara tires to help, of course, but she doesn’t fully understand how much the choice he had been forced to make still haunts him. Slade’s return has brought it all back, the horror of it fresh and visceral.

One night, after a particularly harrowing nightmare in which Slade holds Laurel and Sara at gunpoint and tells him to choose between them, Oliver scrolls through the pictures on his phone in a vain attempt to distract himself.

He comes across one of Tommy and himself, taken shortly after his return from the island. He is not surprised to see that his own smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Tommy’s eyes are alight with joy and laughter, and his arm is slung across Oliver’s shoulders.

 _Why is it_ , Oliver thinks bitterly, _that no one in my life seems to stay dead, except you?_

…

“Keep training, it won’t be long now,” Slade tells him, a gleam in his eye that sets Tommy’s teeth on edge. “Everything is proceeding according to plan.”

A combination of dread and helpless fury crashes over Tommy, and he lunges for Slade, who parries and blocks the furious onslaught of kicks and punches with deadly skill. It takes longer than usual for the other man to incapacitate him, but as always, the fight ends with Tommy locked in a chokehold on the floor. 

“Good,” says Slade approvingly. “You‘re not exactly the world’s best fighter, but you’ll be capable enough to fulfill the purpose I have in mind for you.”

“And what would that be, exactly?” Tommy manages to get out.

Slade lets him go, sitting up and eyes him contemplatively. “That depends,” he says slowly, “On how much you hate him. Tell me, Merrlyn; what lines would you be willing to cross to take him down? What would you be willing to do?”

It takes every ounce of self-control he has left, but Tommy manages to keep his voice steady when he answers, “Everything.”

…

Sitting in the warehouse which has become both a refuge and a prison to him, Oliver squeezes his eyes shut. Slade’s voice rings in his ears, blending with the memory of Ivo’s voice from the island. _Choose._ Oliver leans forward, overcome by acute nausea, but nothing comes up except bile. He has long since thrown up everything solid in his stomach.

He glances half-heartedly at his watch. His mother’s funeral is due to start in less than an hour. Thea will never forgive him if he misses it. He drags himself to his feet and forces himself into one of the suits which he’d stored here when he’d set up this facility a year ago, just in case. His limbs feel heavy and sluggish, and his fingers shake uncontrollably as he tries to do up the buttons of the jacket.

 _Choose,_ Slade’s voice taunts him, and he pauses, suddenly paralyzed by fear. What if Slade shows up at the funeral, what if he tries to hurt someone else because Oliver is present? He had said one more person needed to die before this ended. Laurel, Felicity, Thea, Roy, Diggle- all the people he cares about are in danger. And there is nothing Oliver can do stop him.

Unless…unless he stops fighting altogether. If he gives himself up to Slade, maybe he can protect the people he loves. And if Slade doesn’t accept his surrender, well, he can always remove himself from the equation, regardless. If he’s no longer in the picture, Slade won’t have any reason to go after the people he loves.

 _Choose,_ Slade’s voice rings in his ears.

Oliver does.

…

One night, after months of silence, the TV blinks on. The familiar face of Terry Rogers, the star anchor on Starling Local News, stands before him. He looks unusually rattled. It takes Tommy some time to realize that this is a live feed, and when he does, he is enraged.

The ticker at the bottom of the screen reads, ‘Starling City under Attack Again’. There are clippings of shaky video footage of masked men roaming the streets of Starling City, wreaking havoc in public places- train stations, banks, even Union Hall. Tommy needs only one glance to realize that like Slade and himself, these men are endowed with superhuman strength and agility.

“As panic and chaos fill the streets, it becomes clear that this is too much for the SCPD to handle,” Rogers continues, “Sources tell us that the military is on its way, but they will take a long time to get here. In this darkest of hours, there is only one question on everybody’s lips- where is the Vigilante, and will he be able to save us this time?”

Absolutely infuriated, Tommy lifts a chair and hurls it at the TV. The screen shatters satisfyingly, ending the broadcast. Tommy doesn’t care that he just destroyed his last link to the outside world- he’s done with this bullshit.

“Slade!” he shouts. “What the hell are you playing at? I want out of here, now!”

To his surprise, the door clangs open. Slade glances around the room, taking in the destroyed TV and Tommy’s clenched fists. He quirks his lips sardonically and asks in his gravelly voice, “Having a little trouble controlling your temper, Merrlyn?”

“I’m sick of wasting my time here,” says Tommy, seething. “When are you going to let me out? And why the _fuck_ have you sent masked men into Starling City?

“I thought you were smarter than that, Tommy,” Slade chided him. “Isn’t it obvious? I want Oliver Queen to taste true despair, and for that, he must first experience complete failure. When he watches his city burn, helpless to stop it from happening, it will devastate him.”

Tommy snarls before he can stop himself, but Slade looks pleased. “You really do hate him, don’t you?” he says. “It’s a good thing, since it’s you who will deal him the worst blow of all.”

 “What do you mean?” Tommy asks.

Slade smiles unpleasantly, his expression more deranged than anything Tommy has ever seen. He reaches outside the still open door, and comes back with a familiar skull mask, which he holds out to Tommy. “Take it from someone who has firsthand experience,” he says, “There is nothing worse than watching the man you consider a brother killing the woman you love.”

There is a dull roaring in Tommy’s ears. “You want me to kill Laurel,” he says.

“I do,” Slade confirms, “And after he has felt the sting of that betrayal, after he has watched his entire city go up in flames, _then_ I will drive an arrow through his eye.”

…

TBC…                                                                    


	6. And Start to Feel Again

Title: All We Relied Upon

Chapter 6: Start to Feel Again

…

 _The city lines are down_ __  
The kerosene's run out  
The fracturing of all we relied upon  
I shed this unclean skin  
And start to feel again  
'Cause all the shoulders on which to cry are gone

\- Rise Against, _Endgame._

 

…

 

Despite the horror unfolding around him, Oliver is still able to spare a moment to be profoundly relieved as he throws himself down the cable from the Clock Tower. He had been so, so afraid that he wouldn’t be able to save Roy.

The fact that the cure actually seems to work means they have a fighting chance against Slade for the very first time. More than that, it means this won’t end the way he’d always feared it would, with himself forced to shoot Roy to stop him from hurting someone else. For that, if nothing else, Oliver is unspeakably grateful.

Before they all hasten back to the foundry, Oliver hangs back to speak to Roy. The younger man is obviously disoriented- he just woke up out of a weeks-long coma, after all- but he is trying his best to take everything in his stride.

“You good?” Oliver asks quietly.

“Yeah, I think so,” Roy says. “Am I really cured?”

Oliver scans his face, sees nothing in his eyes but deep-rooted fear and vulnerability. He remembers wearing that expression on the island more than once, when he’d stopped to consider the kind of things he’d had to do to survive. No one with a trace of Mirakuru in their bloodstream could look as human as Roy does now.

“Of course you are,” he says warmly, watching as Roy’s face fills with relief.

Oliver grasps his shoulder briefly before he turns and hurries after the others.

…                                   

Tommy’s entire body thrums with adrenaline as he makes his way to the precinct where Slade told him Laurel is stationed. The mask on his face feels alien and clawing, and it’s all he can do not to rip it off, but the last thing he needs is to be recognized. The streets are in chaos, reminding him painfully of the earthquake, and he hates Slade all over again for making _this_ his first memory of the city in almost a year.

Everything in him is urging him to track Slade down before he can hurt Oliver. The only thing that prevents him from doing so is the fact that he doesn’t know where Slade is. He has no resources here, no money, and no way to get in touch with anyone who can help him.

Besides, if Tommy doesn’t capture Laurel, Slade will definitely know something is wrong. He doesn’t want to lose his advantage. If he plays along, he has a far better chance of being able to protect Oliver. Still, being patient has never been as difficult as it is now, and he is spoiling for a fight when he reaches the precinct.

A police officer tries to stop him, and Tommy punches him so hard that he drops like a rock. Red fills his vision- how _dare_ this man get in his way? He draws back his fist to hit him again.

“Stop right there!” shouts a familiar voice. “Don’t take one more step!”

He looks up and sees Detective Lance with a gun pointed at his chest. Hot anger sparks again- this was a man who had never approved of his relationship with Laurel, who had always been a thorn in his side. He grabs him and throws him bodily across the room. The man collides hard with a bookcase, bringing it down with a resounding crash.

Laurel rushes into the room, horrified. Tommy grabs her arm and starts pulling her towards the door. “Slade Wilson wants to see you,” he says grimly.

“No!” she screams. “Dad!”

Detective Lance groans from his corner. “Laurel…” he says in a pained voice.

Tommy doesn’t spare him a thought. He grabs Laurel’s arm and tugs her outside, waiting till they reach the exit. She fights him every step of the way, but her struggles are laughably ineffectual against his superior strength. “Wh- where are you taking me?” she asks.

Tommy ignores her, too focused on planning his next move. Slade will soon contact him and tell him where to go. Is there some way he can track down Oliver to warn him before that? He has no idea where to find him, and if he screws up on the timing-

Tommy is suddenly pulled from his thoughts when Laurel wrenches her arm out of his grasp and jabs her elbow into his neck. It is the one part of his body that isn’t protected by armor, and though the pain is almost negligible, he is incensed at being caught off guard. He grabs her and shoves her hard against a wall, pinning her against it with his body. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

Her eyes suddenly grow fearful, and she begins to struggle against him with surprising desperation. “No, please, let me go...”

The raw panic in her voice penetrates through the angry haze. He had almost given his life to save this woman a year ago, and he can still feel an echo of the way he used to feel about her, though it is dulled under his complete inability to focus on anything but Oliver and Slade. But the violent, almost instinctive way Laurel is struggling to get free gets through to Tommy- it is how any woman would struggle against a man who has her pinned like this. Horrified at what he had just made her fear, he lets her go immediately, stepping back.

“Laurel,” he says hoarsely, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

“Who are you?” she demands, recovering quickly. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m trying to help Oliver,” he says. “Slade wants to use you against him, he sent me here to capture you. You have to come with me. If you don’t cooperate with me, Slade will just send someone else, and Oliver will be completely blindsided.”

“And why the fuck should I trust you?” she shoots back with a defiance that is painfully familiar.

This is the Laurel Lance of the courtroom, the Laurel Lance who was willing to go up against the biggest mob bosses in Starling City to fight for the weakest, most downtrodden members of society. She has always been fearless and reckless to the point of idiocy. If he doesn’t reveal himself to her, he will have to fight her every step of the way.

Tommy exhales roughly and takes off his mask. A feeling of déjà vu sweeps over him at the stunned disbelief on her face. He finds himself repeating the words Oliver had said to him over a year ago, “Because you always have.”

…

When Slade’s men capture Laurel and the League of Assassins descend on the city with Sara in toe, Oliver begins to lose hope that he can see this through without killing anyone. There are too many players now, too many rogue elements he has no control over. If he doesn’t end this soon, his city will be bombed out of existence, and hundreds of thousands of lives will be lost.

When even Detective Lance suggests that he needs to be willing to kill if he wants to stop Slade, Oliver realizes that he has to stop fighting the inevitable. It cuts him deeply, the thought of letting Tommy down again, but he knows that he has no choice here.

 And then Felicity tells him he’s wrong, tells him there’s another way. She talks about “outthinking” Slade, her eyes wide and earnest, and that’s when Oliver has the glimmer of an idea which makes his blood freeze and his face leech of color.

“What, Oliver?” Felicity asks urgently. “What is it?”

“Give me a second,” he says, turning away from her. He needs to think this through, because if he fails, he could very well lose everything. Try as he might, though, he can’t think of any other options.

“Oliver?” Felicity says. “We’re running out of time, here.”

“I think I may have found a solution,” he says, turning to face her, “involving you.”

She looks surprised, then determined. “Whatever you need, Oliver,” she says earnestly. “You know I’d do anything to help you.”

 “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he mutters tightly.

…

Tommy knows he isn’t being very gentle with Laurel, but he can’t help it. As they head for Giordano tunnel, he feels as though he is crawling out of his skin with impatience. He still has no idea what Slade’s plan is, but it is clear there’s going to be a showdown of some kind.

“I don’t understand,” Laurel pants as she tries to keep up with him, “Why are you wearing a mask? If you’ve been alive all this time, why did you let us think you were dead?”

“Slade had me imprisoned,” Tommy answers shortly.

“All this time?” Laurel asks, looking stricken.

Tommy doesn’t respond, distracted as his heightened senses pick up something. Just in time, he pulls her out of the way of a car that careens around the corner in complete violation of traffic laws.

“How did you do that?” Laurel asks, startled. “I didn’t even-”

“Can you just stop with the fucking questions!” he snaps, making her jump. “We don’t have time for this.”

She stops moving suddenly, a combination of wariness and defiance on her face. “You attacked my father, and you practically kidnapped me. What the fuck did Slade do to you? Did he brainwash you somehow, or-”

“He drugged me!” he snaps as he loses the remnants of his temper, “He gave me something which made me practically invincible and angry all the time, and then he tried to poison me against Oliver but I fought the effects of the drug. He thinks I’m working with him; he sent me here to capture you. He wants me to kill you. You have to play along because the only hope I have of defeating him is if I catch him off guard. So will you just shut the fuck up and stop fighting me?”

She stares at him, looking so dumbstruck and horrified that it makes him grit his teeth in irritation. He is sorely tempted to just knock her out and carry her the rest of the way to Giordano tunnel, but settles instead for grabbing her arm and pulling her along with him. Thankfully, she doesn’t fight him or ask him any more questions.

…

Oliver had thought he was prepared for this moment, but the crawling, sickening dread that fills him when he sees Felicity at Slade’s mercy almost paralyzes him. Even though she is armed with the cure, there is a genuine fear in her eyes which Oliver knows will haunt his nightmares for years, assuming they all survive that long.

“Drop the bow, kid,” says Slade. “Do it.”

Oliver does, and tries to ignore how much more vulnerable he feels without his weapon. The feeling worsens when, seconds later, one of Slade’s masked soldiers emerges with Laurel. It is an eventuality he should have been prepared for, but somehow wasn’t- he had subconsciously convinced himself that telling Slade Felicity was the woman he loved would put Laurel out of danger. But of course Slade would never pass up an opportunity to use them both against him.

His heart in his mouth, he starts talking about Shado in an effort to distract Slade, hoping against hope that Felicity will find a chance to catch him off guard.

…

Tommy’s grip on Laurel is almost bruising as he watches the confrontation between Slade and Oliver. She struggles against him, but it is a little too convincing for it to entirely be an act. He realizes distantly that he is probably scaring her, but all he cares about right now is stopping Slade.

Tommy wants nothing more than to attack right now and forget the consequences. The only thing stopping him is the look on Oliver’s face. He can’t do this when Felicity is still at risk- his friend has lost far too many people already. So he waits, scanning the area for any advantage he can use against Slade.

“When her body lies at your feet,” Slade is telling Oliver menacingly, “her body wet against your skin, you’ll think you’ve lost everything, but you’ll be wrong. Because then I will kill Laurel, too, and I’ll do it in a way that will make you wish you were dead. And _then_ you will finally know how I feel.”

Tommy feels white hot anger course through his body. How _dare_ Slade threaten to use him against his best friend? He thinks of how devastated Oliver would be if Slade’s plan of brainwashing him had actually worked. It would have destroyed him. Tommy growls low in his throat and starts forward, not caring anymore that Felicity is still in danger, but Oliver’s next words freeze him in place.

“I already know how you feel. I know what it’s like to hate, to want revenge.”

The words strike a chord deep inside Tommy. It is almost as if Oliver has held a mirror up to his own soul. Was this how his friend had felt after the island? Was this what had pushed him to don the Hood?

“…and now I know what it feels like to see my enemy so distracted, he doesn’t see the real danger right in front of him,” Oliver finishes.

And then Felicity moves; and Slade goes down with a startled groan of pain. Tommy knows that this is his chance. He shoves Laurel away and propels himself forward, wrapping his hands around Slade’s beefy neck, making him snarl in surprise.

“You’re not going to touch a hair on his head,” Tommy says, focusing all of his energy in choking the life out of Slade. The man struggles against him, but Tommy must be stronger than he realized, because he doesn’t find it as hard as he thought it would be to maintain his hold.

 Oliver stands momentarily frozen in shock, and then a blonde, masked woman suddenly appears in the shadows. “Get them out of here,” Oliver shouts at her.

“No,” Laurel protests, “Take Felicity, I can’t leave yet, I have to tell Oliver that-”

Tommy doesn’t hear the rest, because Slade suddenly moves under him and Tommy finds himself on the floor, their positions reversed. Slade towers over him menacingly, breathing hard. “You think you can beat me?” he shouts, enraged. “I’m the one who trained you!”

“And yet you didn’t see this coming,” Tommy taunts him, panting, “Pretty stupid of you, right?”

Slade lets out an inarticulate roar and punches him, but the blow glances off his body armor harmlessly. Slade stares at his fist in shock and Tommy uses the distraction to shove him as hard as he can. Surprisingly, the man is thrown back, and Tommy wonders fleetingly what the hell happened to all of Slade’s superior strength.

The confusion vanishes when Oliver joins the fray, shooting an arrow into Slade’s leg. The man cries out, his face contorting. It confirms what Tommy had already begun to suspect- somehow, Slade isn’t super-powered anymore, which means he doesn’t stand a chance against Tommy’s superior strength. He throws himself on Slade with a primal cry, pinning him against the floor with laughable ease.

On the floor beside them is the sword that Slade had used to threaten Felicity. Tommy reaches for it, feeling an almost unholy glee- he has planned this, fantasized about this, for _so long_ -

“No!” Oliver cries out, “Please, don’t do this-”

Tommy isn’t listening. “You don’t get to hurt him anymore, you bastard,” he tells Slade menacingly, “or me, or anyone else. I’m going to make this so slow, so painful, that you’ll _wish_ you were dead long before I’m done.” He slides the tip of the blade up Slade’s face, stopping right below his remaining eye. “I wonder what you’d look like with two eye patches,” he says softly.

 _“No!”_ Oliver shouts, notching his bow, and Tommy suddenly finds himself knocked to the side, entangled in ropes. He snarls in rage and struggles against the bindings, feeling them give way, but not fast enough to fight back. Oliver notches his bow again.

“Oliver, don’t!” Laurel screams from somewhere behind them.

Oliver ignores her, his gaze entirely focused on Tommy. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, and lets the arrow fly. Tommy feels a sting at his neck, and then the world goes black.

…

As the masked soldier stills on the floor, Oliver sends three more arrows at Slade, tangling him in ropes. The man stares at him, his eye still dark with hate, but he doesn’t say another word. He knows he has been defeated.

In the meantime, Laurel is frantically checking over the man on the floor, the man who had inexplicably turned on Slade, saving Oliver’s life. “I can’t feel a pulse,” she says, panicking.

“Relax,” Oliver tells her, “He’s alive. It was just pit viper venom laced with the Mirakuru cure. He’ll wake up in a couple of days. But I don’t understand- why would one of Slade’s men turn against him?”

“Because he’s not one of Slade’s men,” Laurel says, turning tear filled eyes towards his. “It’s Tommy, Oliver. He’s alive.”

“What?” Oliver says, stumbling backwards. “That’s impossible-”

His words die on his lips when Laurel reaches forward and takes off the mask, revealing a face he had never thought he would see again.

…

In his drug-induced sleep, Tommy dreams. He is trapped in the same room, with the same yellow bedspread and daisy wallpaper, as if nothing has changed at all. He bangs against the door, shouting for Slade, for anyone, to help him.

How dare Slade keep him here like this, how dare he use him against Oliver this way? He beats the door with his fists, yelling expletives. He wants to strangle Slade, wants to rip him limb from limb. The anger pours out of him like a torrent.

And then it is gone, leaving only a dull echo. He stumbles away from the door, and falls onto the bed in an exhausted heap. The room fades into a comforting darkness, and Tommy sinks into it willingly.

….

In the foundry, sitting beside the same table Roy had lain on for weeks, Oliver waits. He hasn’t moved since he returned from the island, and even though he hasn’t eaten anything in hours and his legs are cramping, he can’t bring himself to get up.

He still can’t quite grasp the idea that his friend is really alive, that he has been alive for the whole year, in Slade’s captivity. The thought still makes him shudder. He has no idea what Tommy has been through, and his stomach churns at the thought of what Slade might have done to him.

Oliver can still hear Slade’s hate filled voice from a few hours ago.

“You think I won’t get out of here?” he’d said. “You think I won’t kill those you care for? After what I did to your best friend; to your mother? You think you still win, after that?”

“You didn’t win anything,” Oliver had snapped. “Tommy tricked you; he fought off the effects of the Mirakuru where everyone else failed. He doesn’t hate me, he saved my life.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, kid,” Slade had said with a slow smile, “You of all people know that while I may be many things, stupid isn’t one of them. I’m not an easy man to fool, and I don’t think your friend is that good of an actor.” His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “You should have the way he punched a hole in the wall the day I told him the Arrow had killed his father.”

“You bastard,” Oliver had hissed, trying to ignore the feeling of dread rising inside him. “You’re wrong. He’s alive, he’s cured, he doesn’t hate me. You failed, and now you’re going to rot in here for the rest of your life.”

“I’m _cured_ too, kid,” Slade had snarled, “And I hate you just as much as I did when that drug was coursing through my veins. Why would Tommy be any different?”

Oliver couldn’t bear to hear another word. He’d backed away from the cell bars, wanting nothing more than to get back to Starling City and reassure himself that Tommy was still alive. “I hope you enjoy your time in purgatory,” he’d spat, before turning on his heel.

Slade’s voice had followed him as he climbed up the ladder. “I will get out of here some day, and when I do, I’ll come back and destroy everything you hold dear. Because I keep my promises, kid. I keep my promises!”

The words haunt Oliver now, making him shudder. On the table, Tommy is so silent and still that he is suddenly, irrationally afraid that he really is dead, and he reaches out and curls his fingers around his friend’s wrist. He is reassured when he feels a steady pulse beneath his fingertips, but it isn’t enough to settle the churning in his stomach.

Tommy will be awake any second now, and Oliver is terrified of what he will see in his friend’s eyes when he does. “ _Please,”_ he whispers, bowing his head. It is the closest he has come to praying in years, and he has never felt more fragile in his life. “Please, don’t hate me. I won’t be able to bear it. I’d rather die. _Please_ , Tommy.”

“Why would I hate you?”

Oliver’s head snaps up, and Tommy is staring right at him, his eyes warm and alive and a little disoriented, looking so completely himself that it’s the most miraculous thing that Oliver has ever seen.

“Tommy,” he whispers, his shoulders slumping with relief.

The other man sits up, glancing around the foundry with a look of confusion. “How did I get here?” he asks, and then his eyes widen. “Wait, is Slade-?”

Oliver doesn’t let him finish. He surges to his feet and pulls Tommy into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he chokes out, “I can’t even- fuck. Just, _thank you_.”

“For not being dead?” Tommy says, trying for levity, but the strength with which he hugs Oliver back gives him away. “You’re welcome. Seriously, I did it all for you.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but Oliver can hear the way Tommy’s voice falters on those last words. He tightens his grip, remembering the look on Tommy’s face when he had first returned home. He’d looked at Oliver as if he’d just been given the best gift in the entire world, and Oliver hadn’t really understood at the time.

He does now.

…

END

A/N: So that’s a wrap! I really enjoyed writing this. Thanks a tonne to my few faithful reviewers who have been very encouraging and wonderful.

Just FYI, I am planning to continue this as a series of one-shots or short fics which will be like tags/missing scenes to Season 3 episodes without changing the main course of events too much. I want to try and stay as canon-compliant as possible, though that might be difficult with Tommy alive!

Anyway, the next fic will probably be about Tommy’s reaction to finding out everything he missed, including Sara’s resurrection, Moira’s death, and the fact that Oliver is no longer killing. Please stay tuned!


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